Rigged!
by TinyPrints
Summary: An Auror, an Unspeakable, and the Master of Death walk into a pub, but only after making a massive error on a research project, in a pub a very far away from home. Power comes from many sources, but magic is a definite advantage in this particular game.
1. Chapter 1

"So why are we here again?"

Harry Potter was absent-mindedly poking an unnaturally creepy corpse. So far, it hadn't done anything. It wasn't supposed to—it was the remnants of a destroyed Inferi, with huge strips of skin, muscle and bone charred black from the fire that had killed it and its bretheren. The rest was icy cold and pale, and the whole thing stunk.

Hermione looked up from her book and spared Harry an exasperated glance. "Honestly, I went over this in the intitial proposals with the DMLE and the DOM." She went back to her book.

Ron snorted. "Yeah, Harry, why can't you remember the really long words Hermione uses to confuse our supervisors until they just let her do what she wants?"

Hermione didn't look up this time, but she did smirk.

Fifteen years later, and the Golden Trio was still inseperable. Sure, they had their history as students defeating Dark Lords, monsters, and evil significant others. But the truly remarkable bit was that they managed to stay together as friends, and form a wickedly awesome crime-solving team to boot.

Harry and Ron had both gone in as Aurors immediately following the defeat of Moldyshorts, while Hermione went back to school. For a long time she wavered in choosing a career (unlike third year, she couldn't simply pick "all of them") until the Department of Mysteries offered her a career as an Unspeakable, researching all kinds of magic. Her close connections to the Dynamic Duo in the Aurors meant that the departments would put the three of them together on the trickier mysteries and broader defense issues than Knockturn Alley pickpockets.

While Harry sometimes wished life had turned out like his teenage wet dreams—marry Ginny, have a family, a quiet life with a steady job—a few months after the war had proved that he couldn't bear it. He needed excitement, even beyond that of a standard Auror job when no Dark Lords were running about. The clincher was the day he died on a standard mission, met Death, came back from the dead, and found the Deathly Hallows in his back pocket. Ginny just didn't cut it after that.

Those same months showed Ron that he did have a knack for strategy, and the years in the Auror force taught him how to read people in pursuit of that strategy. (A latent talent for mental magics helped. Hermione blamed his empty head for his ability to read others.) And working as mediator for the famous Boy-Who-Lived-&-Chosen-One, as well as the scary smart Professor Granger (she had earned the title, even if she only taught post-NEWT magical theory), worked pretty well for him.

Except for when the Boy-Who-Lived-&-Chosen-One and Professor Granger were sparking off each other.

Harry gave a particularly burned crisp a poke with the Elder wand. "So, what are we doing again?"

Hermione pushed the hand away with an impatient huff—that time the wand had sparked. "Honestly, Harry! Be careful with that thing!"

"Yeah, Harry. Careful with your wand. Never know what might come out." Ron snorted.

"Funny, Ron, funny." Harry said. "But honestly, Hermione, what's the project this time?"

That managed to knock Hermione from 'exasperated woman' to 'devoted researcher' mode. "We have an interest in discovering the origins of the magic used to create Inferi. The Aurors are hoping that if we discover those origins, we can come up with a cleaner and more efficient way to eliminate Inferi than large-scale bonfires and huge amounts of property damage. The Unspeakables are hoping to gain some knowledge about necromantic magic without breaking any laws. But…" And Hermione switched back to 'exasperated woman'. "I explained this all to you in the initial meeting and research proposals!"

The men both chuckled. Harry replied with, "Hermione, you have to use big words in those meetings. We understand why we are here."

Hermione sighed. "Whatever. I've got the first spell here for you, Harry. You did bring your holly, right? That one scares me sometimes." She gave a wary glance at the Elder wand, which was still sparking a bit.

Harry pulled out his holly wand. "Right here. Want to try it with this one first?"

"Like usual Harry. Ready Ron?"

Ron pulled his wand out as well—Hermione's standard diagnostic spells could pull some interesting tricks. The time they had summoned an army of miniature garden gnomes had been memorable.

"Ready, Hermione!"

"Alright. Emergency kits ready?"

Twin assents sounded.

"Alright, Harry. 3….2….1….Cast!"

Harry cast the spell: a standard diagnostic to register the origins of the item in question. When done correctly, a vision, not unlike viewing a memory, of the origin appeared.

This time, all Harry got was a cloud of powdery, cold, white smoke.

Hermione recorded the observations in her "Big Book of Observations" (Ron had scrawled that on her never-ending notebook in permanent ink as a joke once, she liked the title), and paused, frowning.

"Well, that was inconclusive, at best." Harry said. "Shall I try the Elder Wand?" He waved the other wand temptingly.

Hermione sighed. "Oh, all right. Emergency kits ready?"

"YES!"

"Alright, Harry, 3…2….1…."

A crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, and some cold wind later, and the three found face-down in a very, _very_ dingy pub.

Ron was the first to lift his head, groan, and moan, "Where the hell are we?"

Hermione kept her face in the dirt. "Harry, I really, _really_ hate that wand. We're not in the Ministry anymore, are we?"

Harry looked up, winced, and put his head back down. "Not even close."


	2. Chapter 2

_To the first 11 follows & favorites. _

* * *

><p>It was hard to believe a full month had passed since the Accident.<p>

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had landed in their dingy pub, and had soon figured out a few key facts.

One, they weren't in London anymore. Or anywhere close. But that was a first-glance sort of observation.

Two, that everyone where they had landed spoke a completely unknown language. Again, this didn't take any true observational skills. It was fixed easily enough—a handy continuous translation spell existed (even if it did feel like a wet goldfish sliding into your ear) that enabled the three to speak, read, and write in their new world.

Three, that wherever they were, wasn't part of their world. While Hermione was all for stopping and "asking for directions", Ron used his mental capabilities to scan the minds of those around them. They soon learned that they were in a place known as "King's Landing", and that most of those they saw around them were war refugees. Over the next few weeks, they continued to scan for information, and accumulated a trove of knowledge about their new world.

The knowledge that where they were was both scary and freeing. Scary for obvious reasons, but they had been in scarier situations before. And freeing, because they didn't have to give any fucks for the Ministry, time continuity, or Secrecy of Magic. They were free to act as they liked.

Which, for the time being, was healing wounded and helping out the refugees.

This was Hermione's idea. She was taking the switch the hardest of the three—she had landed in a world that obviously treated women, the common person, slaves, the working class….just about everyone badly. And that, combined with the lack of a good newspaper or library, left her pissed off and very uncomfortable. And with an itch to help where she could.

Ron and Harry had no objections: after all, they were in a new place with no idea where to go forward. Helping the poor was one way to learn the ropes of this new world until they had an idea where to go forward. Especially when Hermione was convinced that the spell had worked, but just been overpowered, and that they would discover Inferi origins. Eventually.

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><p>It started as a day like any other. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had found a convenient spot to pitch their tent and provide basic first aid with a sprinkling of magical care and a bonus of memory modification if the magic was too much. Ron had been conducting his surface scanning, but as the afternoon wore on he grew more edgy by the moment.<p>

Eventually, he pulled Harry aside. "Trouble's brewing."

Harry wiped his hands clean of the blood from the last patient. "Yeah? Animal, vegetable, or mineral?"

"Ha, Harry. Animal. Very animal. The king is supposed to see his sister off today, to Dorne. Bloody well don't know where that is, but I know that there are people going to be _pissed_."

"Well, we might want to go on down that direction and use our skills. I'm sure Hermione will be pleased to participate in a political upheaval. She's been missing that, you know."

"You're just full of jokes today, aren't you Harry?"

Hermione immediately agreed—"People are going to be drunk, and loud, and _stupid_."—and they made their way towards the expected travel route. As the afternoon moved on, the numbers, volume, and alcohol intake of the crowd increased to a breaking point, which came when the boy king was seen making his way through.

"Blonde little shit, isn't he? Looks exactly like Malfoy."

"Be nice, Malfoy doesn't deserve that."

"Yeah, he does, 'Mione."

"Don't call me that!"

Harry interrupted. "This is it, wands ready?"

"Ready, Harry"

"Yeah, my ears are open."

The situation escalated quickly, and soon Hermione, Ron, and Harry were using _lots_ of magic to save smallfolk who had been cut down by the Kingsguard. They were attending jointly to a rather messy cut when Ron perked up.

Harry yelled out (it was quite loud, after all) "What is it?"

Ron pointed down an alleyway. "Trouble! We need to go!"

Hermione stood. "This one's stable, let's go!"

Rushing down the alley, they saw a girl on the dirt with several men surrounding her. It was clear what they wanted, which resulted in Hermione sending a blast that knocked them all against the alleyway walls.

Ron and Harry shared a glance—on one hand, Hermione's temper was fierce. On the other, her reaction was less violent than theirs would have been. Both set to binding spells while Hermione talked softly to the young woman.

"There, now, everything's alright now, we've got you, they're not going to harm you anymore." Hermione tore a few strips from her skirt and used them to wipe clean a cut on the girl's face, while Harry quietly transfigured another into something resembling a cloak and covered the girl with it.

"What's your name, love?"

"This is the Lady Sansa of House Stark." The low, vicious tone had the four immediately turn their heads to the man in armor, who stood at the entrance to the alley, looking confused and angry. The trio then shared a look. If this stranger had seen anything suspicious….

Harry asked, "Sir, how long exactly have you been here?"

"Long enough to know you used something other than blades to take out those bastards."

Ron asked innocently, "Any chance you just let us go on our merry way?"

"No."

Hermione turned to Lady Sansa. "Do you know this man?"

Sansa finally spoke. "Yes. He is Ser Sandor Clegane, and is part of the Kingsguard."

"I'm also the man who is taking the three of you to the Keep. You shouldn't be allowed to wander the streets, not with…whatever it is you do."

And so the Golden Trio had made their way with Sansa and Clegane to the Red Keep, a place they had only heard about in pub brawls and the random political whisper. While supposedly grand and lordly, they only saw a place of barely controlled chaos and injured bodies. Almost as soon as their odd group entered—a knight with a girl over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and three dusty travelers—they gained a follower. This one was a very short, somewhat lopsided little man who could only be the Imp.

"Well, damn." Ron muttered. "No fire from his claws or anything. Definitely not a monkey. That's not fun."

Hermione punched him in the shoulder.

Harry, meanwhile, had been listening into Lannister's conversation with Sansa & Clegane. More than one glance was thrown in their direction, up until Lannister approached them and gave each member a long, hard stare.

"So, our Hound tells me—in far more words than usual for him—that we are in your debt. Seems you saved our little bird from some rather nasty bastards. Our thanks."

Harry responded—the defacto leader and spokesperson. "No worries, would hate to see _that_ happen to anyone. Now, if you'll excuse us—"

"—_But_," interrupted Lannister, clearly determined, "He also tells me you did this using some rather disturbing methods. He claims you practice the dark arts."

Ron and Hermione focused on Harry. If he messed this up….so far, their scanning had revealed that magic did not have a good reputation. Granted, their kind of magic did not exist, but people wouldn't be that discriminating.

Harry, after a pause, replied. "Ah, he'd be mistaken,then. I know what we do can _seem_ dark, but it really isn't."

Tyrion replied, not to be deterred: "Well, what do you do then?"

Pause. Then Harry confidently stated, "Oh, we're Jedi."

"_What!" _Hermione whispered under her breath.

Ron whispered back, "See what happens when you let him watch muggle pictures?"

"Movies, Ron, movies. And he went on and on about redeeming his lost childhood, what was I supposed to do?"

Meanwhile, Lannister looked puzzled. "Jedi? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that particular phrase."

Harry chucked. "No, I guess you wouldn't. We're not from here—on the run, in fact, from the Sith. But we're the good guys, we promise."

The man gave Harry a long stare.

"So, what _exactly_ are your skills?"

"Well, we can read, write, and blast people to bits with ma—_my Force_." Ron shared an amused look with Harry while Hermione tapped her foot.

"Ron, it is a bit more complicated than that. You almost never read when you have other options. Such as making me do it." She ended the comment with a laugh.

Glancing at a confused and bewildered Tyrion, Harry decided some introductions were in order. "Hermione is the smart one. She's probably forgotten more about magic than the other two of us put together have learnt—not that that says really that much for her skills, or ours, or….she's smart. Ron's our strategist and, amazingly, the dolt reads people surprisingly well now. And I'm just the brawn."

Tyrion had to interrupt. "You're the brawn? I would give that title to….Hermione?...before a strip of bone like yourself."

Ron grinned. "Mum's tried to fatten him for years, but the man just won't gain muscle. And, yeah, well, when you're the Master of…" Ron reconsidered his words thanks to a stomp on the foot from Hermione. "…_the Force_ you really don't need bulk to be brawn."

"And the three of you work together? What exactly do you do?"

Harry and Ron both gave the floor to Hermione. "We recently have been trying to heal the sick and wounded refugees pouring into the city, both when they first get here and when they get injured or raped afterwards. Of course, we wouldn't have to do that if—"

Harry interrupted. "We don't like seeing people hurt, and all three of us have promised in different ways not to use the Force for that purpose."

A passing glance on Tyrion's face showed that he had been debating using them for exactly that sort of purpose. Instead, he conceded with a, "You give me a headache, and it has been a long day. My man will find you appropriate chambers here and we shall talk tomorrow. I'm sure you can understand, having found your skills, I'm not sure I want to let them go just yet."

"And we have little desire to go, _if_ you can use them in a way that helps more people, instead of harming them."

Hermione whispered to Ron, "I really don't want to stay here."

Ron whispered back, "I don't think we have much of a choice."


	3. Chapter 3

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TYRION

The day following the riots, Tyrion felt like his workload had tripled overnight. Ensuring he had time available to speak with these…_Jedi_ had proved to be quite the struggle. After several empty promises of time and polite mentions of his father's gold he had an hour or so, and the three in front of him.

It wasn't that he was not grateful, far from it. From his discussions with the Hound, the three had truly saved Sansa Stark. Regardless, he had never _heard_ of Jedi, he had never _read_ about Jedi, how was he supposed to trust their word? And yet, the Hound had spoken with true fear, and about something that did not involve a flame. And yesterday had been hot, and messy, and by the end of it Tyrion had just wanted wine in his mouth and Shae's mouth.

But now, he had the three standing in the Hand's Quarters, and he had time to truly observe them.

Yesterday, the _Jedi_ had been dusty and plain in brown clothes. That had led him to believe they were smallfolk. Today, they were in dark robes, of what looked like very fine make. And they were clean—possibly even cleaner than he was. Their teeth were in remarkable condition.

Hmm.

After some lopsided reintroductions and a few moments of silence, the black haired one spoke.

"So, you kept us here overnight. Did you have a particular reason? We stayed, hoping you did."

Tyrion fingered his wine goblet—Bronn had his own (the man was sitting on a windowsill in the background, as a precaution) and the other three had declined.

"Well, yes. Our beloved Clegane told me of impossible acts. I wished to find out if they were true words, or if he were simply…"

"Making it up?" the woman asked. Tyrion couldn't help but think this wasn't one to cross.

"It wouldn't be the first time a man had made up a story to save face, my lady. I fear he has come to view his…._protection_ of Lady Stark as a personal duty." _A very twisted one_. "It might be easier for our Hound to tell of impossible feats than admit three unarmed runts defeated some crazed louts." _But then again, that story sounds ridiculous as well._

The black-haired one—_Harry_, he really must start using their names instead of their hair colors—spoke up again. "Well, it seems there is a simple solution for that."

He pulled a stick out of his pocket, and the other two did the same.

"Shall we levitate something for the Lord Tyrion?"

The redhead groaned. "Why's it always got to be that?"

The other two chuckled, and the woman answered, sweetly, "You need all the practice you can get."

The redhead grumbled something about the troll not caring, and Tyrion decided not to try to make sense of it. Then he—_Ron—_said, "Maybe I'll just do this one, right? No sense in scaring anyone today."

The other two assented, and suddenly, with a whisper in a strange language Tyrion had never heard before, his wine goblet started floating right in front of his face.

Huh.

Cautiously, he waved a hand under the goblet. Nothing was supporting it there. Nor was anything supporting it from above.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "So, does your power extend to lifting objects in the air? Clegane did mention something similar."

"The force—" and here the woman (_Hermyone. Hermine? Definitely a foreign name.) _glared at Harry. "—it has many uses. It took us seven years of education to learn even the basics. I fear all of the applications of _the force_ would be too numerous to count. Trust when we say we did save Sansa Stark, and that we only wish to help people survive." The last phrase or so had gotten a bit testy, and she eventually was pulled back by Ron.

"Fair point. But how can I trust you? You have at least one power, I don't know your capabilities, yet you are here and say you wish to help. I wouldn't even know where to start."

Harry glanced at his partners, then asked, "What sort of issues are you dealing with? Tell us, and we'll see if we can help."

Tyrion glanced at Bronn, who had remained remarkably silent throughout. All he had to offer was a shrug. Tyrion took a gulp of wine, prayed that they spoke true, and began. If only he didn't feel like he had nowhere else to turn.

"Well, the situation here in Kings Landing has become a bit more…intense…politically than we might like. In the meantime, Stannis Baratheon means to sail on us and wage war, and we do not have the resources to defend properly against him. My _father_ wages war with the Starks, and I fear for the ramifications of his actions, as well as those of the Starks. And everyone wants a bit of protection, including the Night's Watch." He glanced over at the rather unnerving item that had been left in his solar for weeks.

The wom—Hirmine? She noticed his glance. "What is that?"

Tyrion laughed. "Simply a token of the affection of the Night's Watch. You three are welcome to look, no state secrets there."

Her-mi-whats-her-name went to retrieve the box, and paused, pulling out that stick again. The other two came to join her.

"What's up, Hermione?" Harry asked. Tyrion would have to keep in mind that name pronunciation.

_Hermione_ eyed the box warily. "I think…there's something dark in there. But we haven't seen ma…the Force here at all…"

"Well, we might as well be ready while we check. What's in there, by the way?" asked Ron.

"A severed hand, cold as ice." That made the three all stop and stare for a moment.

"Well, we won't know until we check." Said Harry. "One, two, three!"

And they flung open the box, just as the hand flung itself at Ron's face. As his hands went up instinctively to pull it away, Hermione spoke some more strange words and the hand was torn from his face onto Tyrion's desk. Harry was waiting, and after speaking some more words _fire_ flew from the stick in his hands to the hand on the desk. It twitched, and then stilled.

Harry then turned to his companions triumphantly, and crowed "I TOLD you it wasn't overpowered! We found them!"

Hermione tutted, "Yes, and you've managed to burn the desk. Can't you learn a little refinement? You don't have to brute force everything!" Tyrion glanced down: sure enough, there was a swath of charcoal where the middle of his desk had been. Thank goodness the surface had been clear of papers.

Ron spoke up. "That's easily fixed." Yet more words, and the desk looked good as new. He then looked at Tyrion, and said, "I think we'll have that drink now, if you don't mind."

Tyrion said, "I promise, normally in the Tower of the Hand hands don't go flying about trying to strangle people. And yes, please. Bronn?"

They all received a goblet of wine, and drunk in silence. Then Harry requested some time to discuss ("That hand is part of our business, and we need to decide a few things before we continue."), in private, with the other two. Tyrion granted the request, and moved with Bronn out to the balcony.

"Well, what do you think?" Tyrion asked.

"I think I'd like to fuck the girl." His trustworthy guard replied.

"No, really, what is your opinion here?"

Pause. "Well, I don't think they're likely to stab you in the back. I'd be scared if they wanted power, but I don't think they do. Pity—they could have it in spades, and you'd be set if you were their friend." Another pause. "The Force is a lie."

Tyrion scoffed. "A lie? They set fire to my desk after floating my cup. That's an awful lot of work for a lie."

"Nah, I mean what they call themselves. They can't say it naturally. The girl, in particular—she glares at the black-haired one whenever the name comes up. Don't think they're playing straight with you."

Tyrion finished his wine. "I wouldn't dare to."

Returning to the room a while later, he found the three waiting. Hermione looked disgruntled, Ron looked frustrated, and Harry had a steel in his eye that made Tyrion pause. _Whatever else, he is their leader_.

Harry spoke. "First of all, we want to make sure we are both on the same page. We are here for our own ends, to help people and to solve a mystery of our own. We think that we—" and he motioned at his group and Tyrion. "—can work well together. But we don't answer to you, we are here because we want to be here, and we _definitely _don't answer to the queen or king. We could be out of here before you bat an eye, we simply choose not to."

"Well, that's the most upfront anyone has ever been about ulterior motives, I think," said Tyrion. "Now, how do you propose to help me out?"

Harry unveiled his grand plan. Tyrion disagreed with large portions. They argued. Hermione disagreed. They argued some more. Bronn hit on Hermione, and she…returned the flirtation? And finally, Tyrion and his new secret tools had an agreement.

He would fund them while they split into three directions. Harry was headed North, to determine the true status of the Watchers of the Wall and to continue their own secret mission, which had something to do with dead hands attacking people. Ron would journey towards Harrenhall and his father. And then….Tyrion worried for this portion, but the three wished to travel towards the warfront and learn more about it. Tyrion feared what would happen when Ron met his father. And Hermione would stay at Kings Landing as a lady for Sansa, although she would be doing her own research and projects.

He had three pacifists that could burn, float, and fling. He hoped it would be enough to turn the tide.


End file.
